Page 114 of Big D!ck Energy

Ricky chose that moment to waddle into the kitchen. He sat at Davina's feet and stared up at her. “No begging,” she told him.

He kept staring.

“I mean it.”

His tail wagged hopefully.

“You're not getting my croissant.”

He whined, a single, pitiful note that contained approximately seven thousand years of canine suffering.

“Fine.” She tore off a piece and dropped it into his waiting mouth. “But this is a one-time thing.”

“You say that every morning, too,” I observed.

“Shut up.”

Ricky, emboldened by his victory, attempted to rest his front paws on her thigh, clearly angling for round two. She scratched behind his ears but held firm on the no-more-croissant policy. He accepted defeat.

“Okay.” Davina set the croissant aside, apparently accepting that productivity required her full attention. She reached for her coffee instead, cradling the mug in both hands. “We need to talk about schedules.”

“Schedules.” I nodded sagely. “My favorite topic. Right up there with tax law and the history of concrete.”

“Dallas.”

“I'm listening. I'm just also being hilarious.”

She kicked me under the counter, and I caught her foot and held it, my thumb pressing into her arch in a way that made her breath catch.

“That's cheating,” she said.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're trying to distract me with foot rubs.”

“Is it working?”

“...Maybe.”

I grinned but released her foot, because we did need to have this conversation, and I was already having trouble concentrating on anything other than the way that t-shirt kept slipping off her shoulder.

“Paris,” I said. “Only a few months away. Your first international show.”

The crease returned, but different now, nerves twisted with excitement. “Everything is coming together perfectly. The venue's incredible. I know it’s still over five months away, but I finished our schedule.” She turned the laptop toward me. The calendar looked like a military operation. “I fly out Tuesday from Tampa, and the show is Friday evening. You'll fly in on Wednesday morning from Ireland, but you won’t be able to stay for the show. Sam said you have an interview that can’t be rescheduled.”

I'd known this was coming. “I'll be there Friday for your show. I’ll catch a red-eye back early Saturday morning and make it back in plenty of time for the interview.”

“You'll be exhausted.”

I shrugged. “I'll manage.”

“Dallas…”

“I'm not missing your show.” The words came out harder than I'd intended. “I'll figure out the rest.”

“You'll be running on nothing.”

“A small price to pay for watching my wife take over the fashion world.”